


Finding Secrets

by igottoomuchwriting



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 03:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16778515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/igottoomuchwriting/pseuds/igottoomuchwriting
Summary: Brooklyn and Manhattan used to be great allies. Then it all changed after Spot and Jack became the leaders. Race makes it his job to find out what happened.





	Finding Secrets

The dynamic between Brooklyn and Manhattan newsies was strange. There always seemed to be some sort of tension, especially between Spot Conlon and Jack Kelly. 

After the strike, Racetrack remembered this tension never used to exist. Before Spot and Jack became the leaders, the two boroughs existed in peace. They were allies, ready to help each other at a moments notice. When Jack and Spot became leaders, nothing changed. Jack and Spot even saw each other to discuss the other boroughs and what was going on with their newsies. Then, suddenly, a year later, it all stopped. Spot stopped coming over to Manhattan, and Jack had told the newsies “don’ go over ta Brooklyn no more” with no explanation.

During the strike, there was peace, due to all of them fighting for the same cause. Afterwards, Race had the courage to approach Spot Conlon and get answers to his own questions.

“So,” he started. Spot raised an eyebrow in question. “Why’d ya stop comin’ ta Manhattan all those years ago?” Spot gave him a blank look, before smirking and crossing his arms.

“What, did’ya miss having actual competition in poker?” Race rolled his eyes.

“What competition? I was the best player.”

“How about we test that theory.” 

“You’re on.” Race willingly dropped the subject, knowing that he can’t push Spot into answering a question that he doesn’t want to.

Six months later, Race had an official spot at Brooklyn’s poker table. During those six months, he and Spot had slowly became closer to each other.

“Looks like I beat ya again, Conlon,” Race spat, throwing his cards down. Spot scoffed and threw his cards down as well.

“That’s it, you’s definitely cheatin’.”

“Nu-uh, I’se winnin’ fair n’ square.” Spot shook his head, refusing to accept defeat from the Manhattan boy. 

“Whateve’.” Race watched as he picked up the cards off the table. 

It was a comfortable silence, enough for Race to get lost in thought. Though, instead of the days headlines or where he would get his next pack of cigars, he had one question on his mind. A question that has been bugging him since the strike.

“How come ya don’ come ta Manhattan?” Race asked. Spot stopped, eyes staying focused on the cards he was putting away. Race watched him close, studying him, seeing if he could pick out what Spot was feeling, what he was thinking.

Spot sighed after a moment and placed the cards down, looking at Race with a blank stare.

“It’s gettin’ late,” he spoke. Race got the hint.

\---

Race doesn’t really know what happened. All he knows is that Spot and Jack somehow crossed paths and to no surprise, it did not go well. Now Racetrack is storming over to Brooklyn because it doesn’t matter how close they are,  _ no one  _ disrespects his leader, his friend, his  _ brother  _ like that.

He stomped right through the doors to the Brooklyn Newsboys Lodge, stopping in the middle of the room. There were a few boys in there, all of whom looked up at him with shock and confusion.

“Where’s Spot?” he growled. They all were silent - Race was always happy when he came over. They didn’t know what they should do.

“He’s by Sheepshead,” Blue spoke up. Race nodded in thanks and took off towards the tracks. 

It wasn’t hard to find Spot - the boy always made sure he was noticed. 

Race stomped right up and shoved Spot back. Spot stumbled back and whipped his head towards his attacker.

“Race? What the hell?” he yelled.

“That’s fo’ disrespectin’ Jack,” Race growled. Spot rolled up the newspaper in his hand, studying Race with a glare. 

“Listen,” Spot spoke tensely. “He was crossin’ into my territory.”

“How do ya know that?!”

“He was on the bridge, Race. I’se know where he was heading.” Race took a deep breath and ran his fingers under his hat.

“So?”

“Jack _fuckin’_ Kelly, “ Spot snapped, “Ain’t allowed in Brooklyn. No ‘hattan newsie is.”   
“Then what ‘bout me, huh? I’s here all da time!” Out of nowhere, Spot grabbed Race’s hand and roughly pulled him into an alleyway. 

As soon as they were under the cover, Race shook Spot’s grip off of him. 

“Don’ ignore me!”

“Ya should know at this point, you’s ain’t ‘hattan. You’s Brooklyn.”

“Why me? Fo’ how long?” Spot just stared at him, not answering. Being forceful obviously wasn’t work, so Race decided that he need to try a different approach.

“You’s scared o’ him?” Spot immediately growled. 

“I ain’t scared o’ no one.”

“Sure seems like ya are.” Next thing he he knew, Race was up against the wall, shirt fisted in Spot’s fist. 

“You’s bette’ watch what’cha fuckin’ saying.” Race watched him raise his fist out of the corner his eye, but did not dare to break eye contact.

“Hit me,” he hissed. Neither of them moved. Spot grabbed Race’s shirt with both fists, pulled him away from the wall, and threw him on the ground.

Race groaned as his back hit the gravel, flinching when he heard Spot spit on the ground next to him.

“Get outta my borough.”

\---

Jack knew he shouldn’t be crossing over the bridge. Last time he tried, a newsie spotted him and told SPot, warranting a very tense and angry conversation. 

This time, Jack doesn’t care. Racetrack came back from brooklyn with a rumpled shirt, rocks on his back, and a sour mood. Any newsie of his that comes back like that is immediately his business. 

Lucky for him, Spot was waiting for him at the entrance of the lodge - no doubt one of his newsies saw him. He leaned against the wall right next to the door, arms crossed and a mean looking overtaking his face. 

Nothing new.

“How many times do I’s gotta tell ya? You’s ain’t allowed on my terf.” Jack scoffed and shoved his hands in his pockets, going for a relaxed look.

“That rule don’t apply when you hurt my newsies.”

“This ain’t your terf. You’s don’ get ta decide when rules don’t and do apply.” Jack rolled his eyes. He walked forward, never breaking eye contact, until he was almost nose-to-nose with Spot.

“You’s sure do have fun kicking my newsies outta here, huh?”

“What can I say?” Spot said with a shrug. “It’sa great pleasure’.”

“Really?” Jack scoffed. Spot watched closely has Jack pushed up his hat, leaning only slightly forward. There was a smug look on his face and a look in his eyes that showed he was unafraid. “You’s seemed pretty upset when I left.”

Nothing could have stopped the punch Spot threw.

\--- 

It had been three weeks before Race made his way back to Brooklyn. He was sick of not knowing what was going on; there was some obvious past with Jack and Spot. He just wanted to know  _ what _ .

He passed Blue - who usually sold by the bridge to make sure that no Manhattan newsie crossed into Brooklyn - without a second glance.

“Race?” Blue spoke after him. Race did not stop. He was tired of Spot avoiding his questions and if he stopped to tell Blue what he was doing, he could give Spot a heads-up. 

It wasn’t hard to find Spot as today he was selling in his top selling spot. Spot turned his head when he heard Race approach.

Before he could ask Race what he was doing, Race grabbed his hand and pulled him towards a nearby alleyway.

“Racetrack, what the hell?!” he yelled once they stopped. “Why’s you pullin’ me away from sellin?”

“We’s gotta talk, Spot,” Race snapped back. Spot glared at him and crossed his arms in a defiant stance. 

“What’s so important?”

“Why do ya hate Jack?” Spot stared at Race for a few seconds before chuckling.

“Really?”

“Answer the damn question, Spot!” Spot rolled his eyes.

“I’s got my reasons.” 

“Tell me then.” Spot’s eyebrows furrowed ina mix of annoyance and anger. Race took a step forward. “Tell me why you hate Jack, because it didn’ use ta be this way.” 

There was silence. Spot was taking deep breaths, seemingly trying to calm himself down while Race watched him.

“Did ja know yer friend and oh great leade’ is queer?” Race stopped. He stared at Spot, opening and closing his mouth multiple times, stunned. “But-But he’s got Kath. He can’t be queer.”

“Yeah, well I’s seen plenty-a guys who like both boys an’ girls,” he explained. Race just stared at Spot, looking for any signs that he was lying.

“How’d ya know, huh?” Race asked. Spot stepped forward, looking around to make sure no one was around them;. 

“He got wit’ one o’ my newsies.”

“Who?”

“I ain’t sayin’.” Race stared Spot in the eyes, just searching. He found nothing that showed that Spot was lying to him, and this is a big thing to lie about. 

Race sighed and took a step back.

“So why ain’t he allowed ove’ here? I’s know you ain’t against newsies being queer.” Spot understood the silent reference to Blue and Sling.

“Jack was wit’ one of my newsies before he became a leade’. I let ‘em keeping seeing each other until almost a year into their relationship.” Race watched as Spot looked off in the distance and took a deep breath. 

“Someone caught them messin’ ‘round. Jack dropped the newsie like he was nothin’ - wouldn’t even come back ta see ‘im.” He looked at race and shrugged his shoulders. “So we dropped him. He ain’t allowed in Brooklyn, an’ no ‘hattan is allowed over here.”

“Except me,” Race softly said. Spot stared at him and Race swears he almost saw him smile.

“‘Cept ya.” Race had more questions. Who was the newsie Jack was with? Are they still a newsie? How long was it going on before the came leader?

Why was Race allowed over?

“I’s gotta get back ta sellin’.” Spot walked past Race with no goodbye exchange. Race didn’t try to stop him.

\---

“Is that Spot?” Albert gasped. Racetrack’s head snapped up from counting his newspaper and glared at ALbert when the Brooklyn leader was nowhere to be seen. 

“Aw, did I upset ya, Racer?” cood Albert. Racetrack slapped him in the arm with his stack of newspapers. 

“No, ya most certainly did not,” he snapped. 

“Aw, leave ‘im alone Al,” Jack laughed from where he was sitting. “If he’s got a crush on Spot, let ‘im pine.” 

“I don’ got a crush!” Everyone started laughing as Race stomped away, hiding a blush under his hat. 

“‘Ey, Racer,” Jack called. Race felt a hand grab his shoulder and spin him around. “I’s heard it’s gon’ storm today, so I don’ think ya should go ta Brooklyn.” Race scoffed.

“I’s sure I’ll be fine Jack.” Jack stared at him for a moment before shaking his head.

“If it do, don’ come back ta Manhattan. Just stay in Brooklyn.” He patted him on the shoulder, “I’d rather ya find some place dry than risk gettin’ blown off the bridge.”

“Don’ worry Kelly. I’ll bribe Spot inta lettin’ me stay.” Jack laughed.

“Yeah, you go get yer lover boy.” Race shoved Jack away one last time before making the walk over to Brooklyn, holering as he went.

By the time he got to Sheepshead, he sold 9 of his papers - off to a decent start. His luck only became better when he continued selling in his spot by Sheepshead. It seemed to be a busy day at the track and he sold more than he thought he would with the threat of a storm.

“Didn’ think you’d be here,” Race heard a voice call. He turned around to see the feared leader of Brooklyn making his way over. “Didn’t ya hear it’s gon storm?”

“I decided I’d test my luck wit’ bribing you ta point out a restin’ spot.” Spot scoffed and shook his head, playful look in his eyes.

“You’se bankin’ on a lot.”

“I’se sure got some ways.” They talked for a while longer, mainly about the headline and how things were going in there own lodges after the strike, and at some point they started making their way towards the lodging house.

Fate seemed to be messing with them as it went from sprinkling to pouring rain in five seconds before the boys arrived at the lodging house. 

Race held a newspaper over their heads as Spot pulled them to the closest alley. They had to run to the very back of the alley in order to find a spot that was dry and would protect them from the rain.

“Fuck!” Race cursed as he threw the newspaper down. “I was hopin’ that wasn’ gonna happen.”

“Well waddya expect was gon happen when ya use a pape as an umbrella?” Spot scoffed and Race rolled his eyes. He started rubbing his arms up and down to fight against the cold.

“So when we’s gonna head to the lodge?” 

“Waddya mean we?” Race arched an eyebrow.

“You’s gotta give me somewhere ta sleep.”

“This is it,” he motioned to the alley. “It’s plenty dry.” A look a disbelief crossed his face.

“You’s kiddin’!”

“Nu-uh.”

“Conlon,” he growled, taking a step forward. “Yer jokes ain’t funny.” Spot mimicked his motion, rolling his shoulders back as he held eye contact.

“It’s funny that ya think you’s can intimidate me.”

“Can’t, but I’s know you yer gonna let me stay.”

“Callin’ my bluff?” He was. There was plenty of times Spot would lie as a joke - saying he would push Race off the pier or into the street. The more he thought about it, Spot was really violent.

“You wouldn’ leave me in the cold.” They were up in each other’s faces, which also happened a lot - more than what would be considered normal.

“Bet.” Spot didn’t take a step back once Race started leaning in. 

What was he doing? Spot’ll kill him. 

But he didn’t. They’re lips connected and Spot didn’t hesitate to start kissing back. He grabbed Race’s hips while Race grabbed his waist.

It wasn’t a passionate or violent kiss - surprisingly it was gentle. Though quickly after the kiss started, Spot moved his hands to chest, shoving him away. Race took a few steps back to stop himself from falling while Spot took a step back as well.

“Spot, what the hell!” Race yelled.

“I’s can’t do this again,” Spot snapped.

“Spot, what the fuck are ya talkin’ ‘bout?”

“I can’t fuck wit’ ‘hattan again!” Now Race was beyond confusion.

“Wha-”

“You’s just want to have special privileges. ALl ya ‘hattans want is that!” Spot was breathing heavily, eyes glued to Race but were only looking through him. Race was beyond concerned for his friend.

“Spottie, I’d neve’ do that ta ya,” he took cautious steps forward. 

“You’s ain’t the first to say that.”

“Who else-”

“Jack!” Race stopped.

“Jack?”

“Yes!” Spot screamed, pushing his hands into his hair. “Jack  _ fucking  _ Kelly! He just fucks people and uses them ta get what he wants an’ then pushes them aside!” 

Race had no idea what to do. He had never seen Spot like this, and only ever saw Blink like this when Mush wasn’t talking to them. 

“Spot, is this about that newsie you’s told me ‘bout?” Spot gave a bland chuckle.

“Race,  _ I’s  _ that newsie.” Spot turned to him and shook his head. “Kelly and I started out as friends. We’s got closer and he- he was actually  _ nice _ . As soon as we became leaders, I let ‘im an’ some newsies sell in Brooklyn. An’ as  _ soon  _ as Blue caught us, he dropped me. Said ‘queers ain’t accepted’ and left.” He turned away and Race just stared. This is new information that takes a while to process. You’re best friend is queer, and had a thing with your current crush, current friend?

“You’s know that I ain’t Jack, right?” Spot gave him a blank look.

“I’s ain’t an idiot, I knows you ain-”

“No, I mean,” Race stepped forward and gently grabbed his forearm, “I ain’t gonna do that ta ya.” 

Spot kept his eyes on the ground. 

“I know.”

“We’s can give this a shot.” Spot nodded his head. He grabbed Race’s hand and gave it a squeeze. 

“Maybe we’s can try.” He snapped his head up and glared at Race. “But I’ll kill ya if ya do.”

Race laughed.

“I wouldn’ expect any less.”

**Author's Note:**

> IT'S DONE! Oh. My. God. This took forever??? It shouldn't have. But here you go. I apologize if it's all weird? I changed some writing half way through and I know it's weird but I'm also lazy. Sorry.  
> Blue and Sling do not belong to me! They are OC's that belong to @cazei. They have some great stories on here, especially for Sprace, and I loved the characters so I wanted to put them in. Please, go check them out!  
> I got this idea from the Thomas Sanders song "The Things We Used to Share". How??? I don't know. It just happened.
> 
> Come talk to me on Tumblr!: igottoomuchwriting


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